ttler of Rough-and-Ready--one Low, playfully known to his
familiars as "The Poor Indian"--declared that the Saints were afore his
time, and occupied a cabin in the brush when he "blazed" his way to the
North Fork. It is certain that the two were present when the water was
first turned on the Union Ditch and then and there received the
designation of Daddy Downey and Mammy Downey, which they kept to the
last. As they tottered toward the refreshment tent, they were welcomed
with the greatest enthusiasm by the boys; or, to borrow the more
refined language of the "Union Recorder,"--"Their gray hairs and bent
figures, recalling as they did the happy paternal eastern homes of the
spectators, and the blessings that fell from venerable lips when they
left those homes to journey in quest of the Golden Fleece on Occidental
Slopes, caused many to burst into tears." The nearer facts, that many
of these spectators were orphans, that a few were unable to establish
any legal parentage whatever, that others had enjoyed a State's
guardianship and discipline, and that a majority had left their
paternal roofs without any embarrassing preliminary formula, were mere
passing clouds that did not dim the golden imagery of the writer. From
that day the Saints were adopted as historical lay figures, and entered
at once into possession of uninterrupted gratuities and endowment.

It was not strange that, in a country largely made up of ambitious and
reckless youth, these two--types of conservative and settled
forms--should be thus celebrated. Apart from any sentiment or
veneration, they were admirable foils to the community's youthful
progress and energy. They were put forward at every social gathering,
occupied prominent seats on the platform at every public meeting,
walked first in every procession, were conspicuous at the frequent
funeral and rarer wedding, and were godfather and godmother to the
first baby born in Rough-and-Ready. At the first poll opened in that
precinct, Daddy Downey cast the first vote, and, as was his custom on
all momentous occasions, became volubly reminiscent. "The first vote I
ever cast," said Daddy, "was for Andrew Jackson; the father o' some on
your peart young chaps wasn't born then; he! he! that was 'way long in
'33, wasn't it? I disremember now, but if Mammy was here, she bein' a
school-gal at the time, she could say. But my memory's failin' me.
I'm an old man, boys; yet I likes to see the young ones go a